The net, with poor Mappo in it, was dragged up close to the crate, and a door in the crate was opened.  Then part of the net was pulled to one side, and Mappo saw a hole where he thought he might slip out.  He gave a jump, hoping he could get back into the tall trees again.

“And if I do, I’ll never eat any more cocoanut, unless my mamma or papa gives it to me!” thought Mappo.

So he gave a jump out of the net, but, in a second he found himself inside the wooden crate, or box.  He had gone into it when the net was open opposite the door of the crate.  In another second the door was shut and fastened, and Mappo was a prisoner in a new prison.  He could not get out, no matter how hard he tried.

“There he is, safe and sound!” chattered the natives, in their queer language, which was as much like monkey talk as anything else.  “Now we can carry him to the coast, and sell him to the white men.  Come on.”

“I wonder where the coast is,” thought Mappo, and I might tell you, in case you don’t know, that the coast is the seashore.

[Illustration:  So he gave a jump out of the net, but, in a second, found himself inside the wooden crate or box. (Page 47)]

The ships, in which white men come to the jungle countries, go only as far as the seashore.  They cannot go on the land, or into the interior, where the wild animals live.  So when the natives catch monkeys, or other creatures, they have to carry them to the coast.

“Well, this isn’t very nice,” thought Mappo, as he looked at the little crate, inside of which he now found himself.  “I haven’t much room to move around here, and I don’t see anything to eat, or drink.”

He was not very hungry, for he had eaten a lot of the cocoanut just before being caught in the net.  But he was thirsty.  However, he saw no water, and, though he chattered, and asked for it as nicely as he knew how, he got none—­at least, not right away.

Mappo’s fur was all ruffled by being caught in the net, and he now began to smooth that out, until he looked more like himself.  He peered through between the slats of his cage with his queer little eyes, and there was a sad look in them, if any one had noticed.  But no one did.  The natives were getting ready to carry Mappo to the coast.

Poor Mappo looked out on the green jungle where he had lived ever since he could remember.  He did not know that he was never to see it again.  He would never climb the big trees, and swing from one branch to another.  He would not play tag with his brothers and sisters, nor would he open cocoanuts on a sharp stick and by dropping them on a stone.  Mappo was to be taken away from his nice jungle.

Of course he did not know all this at once.  All he knew now was that he was in a little crate, where he had hardly room enough to turn around, and no room at all to hang by his tail.

“Come on—­let’s start with him!” called one of the black men.  “We’ll take him to the white people, and come back and catch some more monkeys.”